In the Year of the Cat (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

35. The Starship's Final Voyage

Back in the company of his friends, Freddie seemed to remember who he was: the pushy, party-hard professional with charm and finesse enough to share. That other guy, the sweet, goofy average Joe I'd run around New York City with, he left behind in the limo. I didn't try and conjure that person again; if he came back, it would be in private. I didn't want to embarrass Freddie in front of Elton John- which meant I'd have to wait before asking him what was his favorite part of Star Wars.

And the two of us would have to get well out of earshot of these high-profile clowns before I could tell Freddie anything important.

In minutes we boarded the Starship, with a new captain at the helm. This time, there was a designated co-pilot, leaving Rudy off the hook. I remember neither of their names, I'm sorry to say, but they were great people. You'll see why in a bit. Since Rudy could no longer be my excuse to remove myself from the festivities (and to be honest, I didn't really want to this time around), I happily stayed in the passenger section.

The engines started up with a smooth, sexy purr, no rattle or telltale noise to speak of whatsoever. Before long, we'd taken to the night skies, and we were free to move about the plush cabin. Freddie slipped into the bathroom to splash a little water on his face. Belle, our sole stewardess, disappeared to fix Freddie and myself something to eat; all we'd had was a little theater junk food. Elton sat down behind the organ and started noodling around on the keys; and everyone else generally made a raid on the bar.

"Have a drink, Eve!" Peter offered. "What's your pleasure?"

"I don't, but thank you anyway," I shook my head.

"Rubbish! It'll help to calm you down, you got so upset earlier."

"I'm feeling much better now. No, thanks."

Peter sighed and put his hands on his hips. "How do you expect to have a good time when your answer to everything is 'No, thanks'?"

I half-smiled. "Freddie, have you been talking to Peter?"

Freddie crossed his legs and twiddled his thumbs in an attempt to appear innocent, looking in every direction except mine.

"You're a big help. Anyway," I joked, "I'm much too young."

Freddie turned serious. "Hang on. How young?"

"Don't look so scared. I'm two weeks away from twenty."

The dark eyes widened. "Well, f---. I was way off."

"How old did you think I was?"

"Five years my junior, if that?"

"And you are...?"

"Thirty-one in September."

"Whoa," I teased him, "you're so old."

"I wear my age well though, don't you think? But you- My God, you're practically still a child!"

Oh, you hypocrite. Mary was nineteen when you started dating her.

"Practically, but not technically," Peter said slyly. "C'mon, Eves. You can't be this uptight in Vegas, they'll have you tarred and feathered! Call it practice."

"Uncle, uncle," I sighed. "Okay, I'll have whatever you're having."

Famous last words.

He poured two tall glasses of straight vodka with a couple of small ice cubes for decoration. Sliding one into my hand, Peter toasted and threw his own back, swallowing it all impressively. I took one sip of mine, and found to my surprise that I didn't hate it. It was tasteless at first, but it burned with a friendly fire as it slid down my throat. This was no place for lightweights; in one gulp I drained my glass.